The Little Wolf and The Young Star
by GoliathQueen
Summary: A dragon shall arise from the smokes and ruins of Old Valyria. He will carve a path of fire to Westeros, burning everything in its wake. And when the blood of a faceless maiden seeps through Dawn, the old empire shall rule once again. This is a remake of the first one I posted. I had to make some changes. A Song of Fire and Ice belongs to GRRM only! He's the man
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

 _Through the haze of black smoke are the writhing bodies of men clad in armor. The clashing of swords and screams of pain intermix with the crackling sounds of fire. Heat engulfs his face as he tries to see the carnage in front of him. Blood soak the ground as every man went for each other's throats._

 _He feels something heavy in his right hand and looks to see a long sword caked with blood. Dawn, he recalls seeing the sword numerous times in the paintings that hung in the walls of Starfall. He realizes how far away he was from home when the cold wind bit him. Shivering, he drags his eyes through the vast lands of white. Another dream._

 _A shadow fell over the battlefield. In the sky, a large creature with red and black scales and wings as broad as a ship flies overhead. Another dragon dream, he corrects himself. He watches, mesmerized as fire come pouring out of its mouth. The flames spared no one. The shadows in front of him are writhing in pain, shrieking for the flames to stop but for him, they seem like they're dancing a macabre dance of flames and death. Suddenly, the dragon landed in front of him, regarding him with red, menacing eyes. There was nothing to fear; the dragon knows him. They were of the same blood, like brothers. He walks towards the dragon, reaching his hand out to touch it. The menacing eyes became softer as it leans its head to his touch. He caressed the sharp scales, feeling heat emanating from underneath the skin. The dragon raises his head, looking behind him._

 _He turns to see a slender figure dressed in breeches and tunic. A hood was pulled over her head, revealing nothing. His eyes travelled to delicate-looking hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword so thin it almost looked like a needle. There was an aura of danger around her, sending shivers down his spine. His brother shifted uncomfortably as it lets out a low growl. It is not the growl of menace but rather, a warning. The dragon's heat was being replaced by cold. He shoots a look at the hooded figure, not comprehending if the coldness is coming from her._

 _"Who are you?" he demanded, tightening his grip on Dawn. Beside him, his brother seems to cower in fear. Dragons never cower, he thinks as frustration tugs at his heart._

 _"I am No One," the hooded figure says in a monotonous voice, betraying only a faint accent. Goose pimples rose from his arms. "You are the Sword of Morning."_

 _He frowns. "I am not. I am—"_

 _"You are Edric Dayne, Lord of the Red Mountains and Starfall. The Sword of Morning."_

 _The Sword of Morning is a title given to the greatest knight in Dorne, a title only a Dayne is worthy to behold. But he was no knight. He was just a squire. He should not even be here. Frantic, he takes a step back._

 _"What do you want from me?"_

 _"It is not what no one wants. It is what No One will give." Her strange way of speaking was getting to his nerves. Though her eyes were hidden and he could only glimpse shadow through her hood, he could feel her eyes on him._

 _"I'm here to give you a gift from the Many-Faced God."_

 **CHAPTER ONE:**

 **EDRIC DAYNE**

Edric Dayne's eyes sprang open to see the faint light of dawn through the window of his room. 'It was just a stupid dream,' he thought when he hears a familiar laugher. Still, he could feel the numbing cold and most of all, the terror. It was just one of the many strange dreams he have had. Yet this was the scariest. Standing up, he walked towards the window. Outside the courtyard of Blackhaven was alive with activities; peasant tending to their daily chores, children being trained by the master-of-arms, and horses being saddled. The last one broke him from his stupor. He jumps away from the window, hurrying to get himself ready. Outside, he helped Lord Beric Dondarrion put on his armor and went about other tasks. He has been squiring for the Lord of Blackhaven since he was ten and one. Now, ten and six, he's soon to be knighted.

Their long caravan was an assortment of knights, squires, singers and jesters and Lord Beric's household. There waas the Tourney in celebration for the new Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms would surely be attending, for the honor, riches and women that come with winning the tournaments.

Brushing his pale hair out of his eyes, Edric watched Lord Beric, wondering if he would let him compete. Perhaps, if the king sees his prowess, he might knight him instead. Everyone says Edric is the reincarnation of the mightiest knight of Westeros, Ser Arthur Dayne. They even say that he's the new Sword of Morning.

Lifting his head with pride, he urged his horse faster to ride alongside Lord Beric. It was a long ride North and King's Landing was as magnificent as what they say. Though there was a faint stink in the air, Edric understood why so many ambitious lords lust for the Iron Throne. With the giant walls of the Red Keep looming all over the city, it gives him an image of a formidable fortress. Once, the banners that were flying at the top of the castle were black with a red three-headed dragon, now it was a simple crowned head stag.

Ours is the fury, Edric thought, still not understanding how stags could be furious. Wolves, yes. Lions, yes. Even bears. But stags?

Lord Eddard Stark was every bit the Northerner that he is. With burly features, dull brown hair and sullen gray eyes, he seems to carry all of the winters of the North with him. Lord Beric had brought Edric with him to the Tower of the Hand to discuss some matters.

"My lord," Lord Beric said. "This is my squire, heir of Starfall, Edric Dayne." Lord Stark regarded him with cold gray eyes, but there was kindness in them. Edric bowed courteously, saying, "my lord."

"Wait outside, Ned."

"My lords," Edric bowed again. Ned is Edric's nickname, same as Lord Stark. He saw a small smile on the Northern lord's face, probably amused that they share the same nick name. Closing the door behind him, he noticed two men wearing gray armor with a direwolf sigil walking down the hallway towards him. They both have unkept beards like the Lord of Winterfell. The younger of the two was bending down towards the small figure behind them. It was then that he noticed a girl about the same age as him. She pouting miserably.

"You should not have kept the prince waiting, m'lady," the younger one says.

"I don't like the prince, " she whined and was about to add something when her eyes caught him. Unruly brown hair was threatening to fall out of her high pony tail and fiery gray eyes. A wild Northern beauty as the rumors say.

"Arya."

He saw the fire in her eyes growing into something more than recognition. Her lips curled in contempt while the rest of her face remained unmoving. "What are you doing here?"

His heart clenched at the needles in her voice. "Lord—"

"Don't mind that," she cut him off, turning instead to the Stark men guarding her. "I'll talk to my father later."

With that, she marched off, the Stark men following her in silence. She left in her place a coldness that Edric knew he could never appease.

 _"What are you?" The pupils in her haunting gray eyes were dilated. Her face paler than possible as moonlight shone across it. "What are you?"  
_ _He feels something wet in his hands. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He raised his eyes to meet hers. There was blood in her face.  
_ _"What are you?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **DAENERYS**

The city of Mereen fell silent as her children roam the sky at night. Her largest and most formidable child, Drogon swept past her in the highest tower overlooking the city. The wind from the strong flap of his wings sent her pale silver hair into a tangled mess. She laughs, smoothing her hair. Her other two children, Rhaegon and Viserion were playing with each other, leaving Drogon to his own escapades.

"Can't sleep?" She turns to the sound of her lover's voice. Daario Naharis stood bare-chested at her door, watching her.

"It has been so long since I've seen them like this," she mused. She felt his strong arms around her, bracing her to him. She has taken as a lover, the sellsword who had proven to her, on numerous occasions, his undying loyalty. Though the pain over the loss of her beloved Khal Drogo still feels raw, she longed for a man's company. A man who reminds her of Khal Drogo and the strong embraces they have shared.

"What do you think about the boy who claims to be my nephew, Aegon Targaryen?"

"You don't believe him," he says, reflecting the thoughts that have been haunting her since the day a silver haired boy with purple eyes so dark they seem almost black came to her doors. He was accompanied by an army 10,000 strong, backed by the spider, Varys and Ilyrio Mopatis, the merchant who had kept her and her long-dead brother safe since exile. She could not shake the gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach.

"Mummer's dragon," she said beneath her breath, thinking of the prophecy given to her by a mysterious woman in Qarth.

"After you've taken the Seven Kingdoms, you can have him killed," Daario said, as if it's the easiest thing in the word. Everything for him is simple. "You have dragons. He only has the Golden Company, 10,000 men."

Daenerys didn't answer. Her thoughts shifted to the impending union of the usurper's son to the daughter of Eddard Stark. That union would further solidify the usurper's hold over the Seven Kingdoms; Baratheon, Lannister, Stark. And with the Stark marrying the Tyrells, five great Houses, including the Tully. The only Great House left are the Martells of Dorne. They would remain loyal to the Targaryens, she knew. However, she would have to act fast.

 **ARYA STARK**

Arya Stark could literally feel her blood boiling as she stomped off the hallway. His eyes were boring onto her, she could feel. An urge to look back brought shame to her. Biting her lips and clenching her fists, she quickened her pace.

"M'lady," she vaguely hears Jory Cassel calling her.

Consumed in her fury, she almost bumped into someone rounding the corner. "Damn the gods," she cursed, raising her head to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking down on her. There was a glint of amusement in them.

"Prince Gendry." She grimaced as she tried to curtsy though she knew she must have looked ridiculous.

"My lady, the tourney's beginning," he said, looking at her clothes. Arya frowned and pushed past him, saying, "Don't worry, your grace. I will get myself ready."

Prince Gendry frowned at his betrothed then turned to the two Stark men who muttered their honorifics and followed her.

After the handmaidens have scrubbed her clean and raw, Arya Stark forced herself to wear the light blue dress prepared for her. She thought of the comfortable gray woolen dresses in Winterfell and wondered if she could stand the heat wearing those.

"M'lady," her handmaiden spoke, breaking her out of her thoughts. "The Prince is waiting."

Damn the prince, she thoughts, struggling to walk in the uncomfortable dress and shoes that seems to crush her toes. Outside her door, the crown prince adorned in all the jewels that could probably feed all of the people in Flea Bottom smiled at her. For some other ladies, that smile is a knee-weakening, swoon-inducing, charming smile; however, Arya knew what a narcissistic, arrogant and cruel the prince is. Snorting, she walked past him. When the crowds greeted them, she weaves her arms through his, thinking of her furious lady mother and the stern grimace of Queen Cersei. There was no running away from this betrothal. Yet.

Taking their seats beside the king, Arya allowed her cheek muscles a moment of rest. Smiling has never been Arya Stark's forte; that was Sansa's. She glanced to her red-haired sister who wore a blue silk dress which outlined her Tully blue eyes; she should have been the one marrying the prince. Sansa's eyes fleeted to her. There was that hatred Arya knew well. Looking down at her hands, adorned with a diamond ring and gold bracelet, she thought of the freedom she had lost; she lost her sister, too. It has always been Sansa's dream, to be like the princesses in the songs. To be the Queen. Now, she's stuck with the younger prince, a sadist psychopath called Joffrey Baratheon.

Prince Gendry was laughing beside her, probably laughing to a jest by the blonde haired prince Joffrey.

Arya lifted her head, refusing to let this weight her down. Purple eyes were looking at her from across the playing field. Her breath hitched as she was brought back to that night.

 _His face was crumpled in disgust and hatred as his fist pounded on the boy underneath him. The crunching sound of bones being broken, his heavy breathing, the whimper of the poor boy and the sizzling of fire were the only sounds in this silent night. Arya can't even hear her voice pleading for him to stop._

 _"Stop it, Ned."_

 _He stopped though she doesn't know whether it's because of his exhaustion or because the whimpering of the boy had stopped. He stares at the broken face that doesn't even look human anymore._

 _She felt like her heart had stopped; there was a gleam of something indecipherable in his face. Was it pleasure? Guilt? Or just mere satisfaction?_

 _Fire was still burning at his clothes, turning the fabric to ashes which had turned to pile at his feet. Yet, the fire did not burn him. She stared at his bare chest which bears no burn marks. Even as the last fire died, leaving him half-naked, he was unharmed._

 _"What are you?" she croaked._

 _He turns to her, as if just remembering her. For a second, her heart jumped at the strange glint in his eyes; His eyes which seem more purple than blue were obscenely calm as if he had not just murdered a poor stable boy in cold blood. As if his hand is not soaked in blood. She thought he would kill her then._

Blinking, she was brought back to the present. Edric Dayne was still staring at her; The sun shining on his eyes, making it blue. Arya knew they were only an illusion. Dressed in gray and purple armor, he stood tall and broad-chested, different from the lithe boy from three years ago.

Arya looked away.


End file.
